Song of the Orphans
by MeganKoumori
Summary: A side story to 'Annie's Song.' Before he was Spike Spiegel, Bounty Hunter and Butt Kicker, he was just a hungry street kid...
1. Chapter 1

1:

* * *

I was hungry.

That's how everything started. With my growling stomach. It was a rainy, humid day in mid July when I stole the sub sandwich. It was one of those stores behind a gas station that I targeted. As the ships buzzed in and out, I casually walked inside, just some thirteen-year-old kid whose parents were probably refueling their ship. Except I didn't have parents.

Inside was a man, tall and blonde, was running the cash register. With him behind the counter was a little girl, about eleven I guess. She had large blue eyes and wavy blonde hair and she was playing with a cowgirl doll. She looked up at me.

Ignoring her, I made my way to the freezer in the back. I could still feel her eyes boring holes in the back of my fuzzy, green head. Who cared though?

Using the best of my skills, I slipped a wrapped chicken sub into my jacket. When you have to steal to live, it's either learn to pickpocket the right way or starve. Turning, I almost collided with the little girl.

"Hi!"

"Oh, um, hi." I said. I just wanted to get out of there so I could eat for the first time in days. But as I walked toward the door, she followed.

"Do you like cowboys?"

"Huh?"

"Do you like cowboys?" She repeated.

"Sure, kid." Cowboys? What was she on?

"I love cowboys!" She continued. "I want to be a Cowgirl when I grow up!"

"That's nice."

Suddenly, she stepped in front of me, blocking the door. I tried to move around her, but she kept sidestepping every move I made.

I was growing frustrated, but before I could snap, she stood on her toes to get eye level with me. "I think you're cute!"

Didn't see that coming. "Huh? Wha…"

"I said," She repeated. "I think you're cute!"

Time to go! I finally made it around her, but she pulled on my sleeve. "Wait!"

"Hey, stop! You're going to rip it!"

"Wait!" She begged. "Don't go!"

I was right. The sleeve tore from the jacket and I fell backward into a magazine rack. It tipped over with a loud noise.

Through the shower of 'Playboys' and 'Bounty Hunter Todays' I could see the blonde man step out. He looked furious.

For a moment I couldn't figure out why. It was his kid that made me topple into the rack! Be mad at her! But then I realized. The sub had fallen out of my jacket.

He yanked me to my feet. "Boy, you're in a lot of trouble!"

_I'm always in trouble,_ I thought sourly. _Why should today be any different? _The blonde girl was looking at me sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry!" She said. "I'm really sorry!" To the man, she said, "Can't you let him go, Daddy? Please?"

"No! If I do, this punk will probably steal again!"

I shrugged. "A guy's gotta eat!"

"Well, not from my place!" He snarled, dragging me to an office in the back. He pushed me inside. "You stay there until the police arrive!"

The last thing I saw before the door slammed and locked was the girl again. She looked really sorry, and though I was pissed, I couldn't really bring myself to be furious.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I was being led from the store by a cop. Before I ducked into the squad car, Blondie ran out. Her father called after her angrily, but she ignored him as she wrapped her arms around me.

I was startled. Should I push her off or hug her back or what? Before I had a chance to decide, the man was dragging her back inside. "Wait until I tell your mother! What has gotten into you lately anyway, Judy?"

As I slid inside the cruiser, I felt a lump in my jacket. I pulled it out. It was the sub, squashed, but still edible. Looking at the store, I saw the girl in the giant glass window. She gave a small little wave.

I waved back. And then I had lunch.


	2. Chapter 2

2:

* * *

The judge was an old woman with pince-nez, silver hair, and the darkest skin I'd ever seen. As I stood before her in the courtroom, she sat on the bench, reviewing my file in a manila folder.

She took off the glasses and pointed them at me. "I see you have a record of stealing." I shrugged. "Three attempts last year, two this year, and now this." She paused. "I see, though, that you only steal food. Why is that, Young Man? Don't you have enough to eat at home?"

"I don't have a home."

She was silent. "Oh." She finally said. "I see. You're a street kid."

"That's right."

"In that case," she picked up a gavel. "I'm sending you to the St. Jerome Emiliani Home for Boys." She rapped the wooden mallet.

"Hey wait!" I interjected, breaking away from the cop. "I don't want to go to some orphanage! I've already run away from two of them!"

She was unmoved. "It's either this, Young Man, or Juvie."

I'd already been in Juvie once. And I never wanted to go back. So I consented. I was headed to St. Jerome Whatever.

* * *

St. Jerome Emiliani was some pious looking guy with a beard and priest's robe. In the front of the orphanage, there was a stained glass window of him surrounded by children. Nuns ran the whole place.

There wasn't much to do but go to my new room. I had no luggage with me, nothing but the clothes on my back. And even those were about to be tossed.

The Mother Superior had given me a new uniform: A white button up shirt, a tie, and an itchy gray jacket and pants set.

She also gave me the Evil Eye. "In my orphanage," she warned. "We have little tolerance for misbehavior. I don't care what you got away with in your last two homes, or on the streets, but here, you will follow the guidelines I set before you. Understand?" Before I had a chance to answer, she said, "Good. Now put your new uniform on and deposit your old clothes in the box by the stairs. We will donate them to charity."

"Aren't we charity?" My remark was evidently not appreciated, but before the Mother Superior had a chance to reprimand me, there were shouts and several boys ran by the room. One kid with frizzy brown hair and acne dashed in.

"Mother Superior, Mother Superior! There's a fight in the kitchen!"

She sighed irritably. "It's Vicious again, isn't it?" She muttered something, crossed herself, and left me, wondering just what was so vicious.

* * *

So there I was in my new room. All I really had to do besides change was make up my new bed. I'd never done it before, and soon, the whole thing looked worse than if I slept in it.

The door opened and a tall kid with a large nose walked in. He was three years older than me. "You must be the new guy."

I noted the shiner around his eye. "You must be the kid who was in that fight."

"What?" He touched his bruise. "Oh no, not me." He grinned. "Stray punch. I was trying to pull Vicious off of Ricky and he belted me."

"So why'd you get involved?" I asked. I was stuffing the ends of the sheet under the mattress.

He shrugged. "When Vicious gets going, he's pretty hard to handle. The nuns have a rough time controlling him, so us boys jump in and try to help whenever he starts a fight, which is everyday." He paused. "I'm Harold by the way."

"This Vicious guy sounds _real_ pleasant," I said sarcastically. "I'm just going to love it here."

"Eh, it's not so bad at St. Jerome's," said Harold, sitting on the bed across from me. "I've been in worse places. At least we have heat and AC, and the Sisters really do try hard. Here," he stood up and walked over to my bed. "Lemme show you how to make your bed. I couldn't do it either when I first got here. Get on the other side and you can imitate what I do." I was in no position to argue; my new bed looked like a bomb had exploded under the sheets.

As we smoothed out the wrinkles on the bottom sheet with our hands, Harold said, "I've been in about three fights with Vicious. He's pretty cool, but he tends to explode over little things. Other than that, he's ok." I nodded and we pulled the top sheet to the headboard. "Don't worry," Harold continued. "Once you get used to this place, you'll like it."


	3. Chapter 3

3:

* * *

It was lunchtime next. The food, served by a young nun named Sister Clara, was pretty bland but it was food. The other boys scarfed down their baloney sandwiches on white bread, their little bowls of grapes, and their soup (Just beef broth actually). To make mine taste better, I began to tear up little pieces of my sandwich and drop them in the soup. The broth soaked into the bread, making it taste good as I ate.

Harold leaned across the table to see what I had done. "Cool! Hey guys check it out!" Suddenly I was the center of attention as everyone crowded around to look at my soup.

Harold tried it next. Then the kid next to him. Then the kid next to that kid. Soon everyone was doing it. Except one.

He was the only kid who hadn't gotten up to see my concoction. He kept eating his broth the same way. Then he looked up and glared at me.

_He must be Vicious,_ I thought. He looked the same age as me, except he had white hair. White hair? On a thirteen-year-old? _Weird. _I smirked. _I wonder what scared him so bad! _He must've seen the smirk, because the glare turned positively icy.

I went back to my lunch. I wasn't about to let him ruin my meal.

* * *

After lunch was recess…of sorts. We were required to go into the courtyard and get some exercise. The other boys quickly divided up into teams to play kick-the-can, but I held back. Instead, I stood by the fence with my arms crossed behind my head and watched traffic on the other side.

There was a tap on my shoulder. I turned my head and before I knew what was happening, I had been belted in the face.

Vicious was cracking his knuckles. "Wanna laugh at me again?"

I checked my mouth for blood. There was none. I straightened up and glowered. "I didn't laugh at you!"

"Yes you did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

The other boys had stopped playing and formed a crowd. Vicious swung at me again. This time I was ready for him and I ducked. His fist flew through the air and he nearly toppled. He turned to take another shot, and I kicked him in the face.

Vicious stumbled backward to the fence, and looked at me stunned. The other guys looked stunned too, but I didn't pay them any attention. Instead I held up my hands, ready to cream him. He lunged and punched me in the stomach. I recovered quickly and got a few hard jabs in before he nailed me with a swing to the jaw.

We continued to duke it out, until out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Mother Superior marching toward us, Sister Clara running behind her, lifting her habit so she wouldn't trip over it.

I turned to look at them and that's when the little punk tackled me. We skidded across the gravel, and when we stopped he hit me in the eye. I sat up and pushed him off and jumped on his chest. I hit him in the face again and again, moving so quickly he couldn't strike back.

Finally, I was out of breath. He was bleeding from the nose and he had a lump on the right side of his forehead. As I panted, the crowd of people gaped at us. Even the two nuns were shocked. Everything was dead silent; only the cars passing on the other side made any noise.

Then there was laughter. Vicious was laughing. And before I knew it, I was laughing too. I slid off his chest onto my knees and he sat up. We had a good long hard laugh.

Finally, he said, "You're all right, Kid! What's your name?" I told him and he grinned. Getting up, we walked through the mob and to the other side of the yard. "You know, Kid, I have a feeling we're going to be good friends…"


End file.
